


sand among the jungles

by elinciacrimea



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Canon Compliant, Found Family, Gen, Mid-Canon, Missing Supports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 00:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20921528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinciacrimea/pseuds/elinciacrimea
Summary: "Mordecai considers himself friendly. He had many friends in Gallia, and he is making friends in Ike's army. He is not as frightened of the beorc as he used to be. But Muarim is different, and strange. A laguz, a brother tiger, just like Mordecai...but one who has never known Gallia and her lush forests, who was trapped in beorc slavery. Someone who has suffered in ways Mordecai cannot imagine. Mordecai doesn't know how to talk to Muarim, and he is ashamed of that."Three conversations between tigers.





	sand among the jungles

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone knows I love herons, but did you know I also love tigers??? I love tigers.
> 
> This fic references Muarim's battle conversation if he fights Naesala in FE9, if you would like to read that ahead of time.

The other tiger always sits alone.

Mordecai notices as he watches from his seat by the campfire. Muarim sits away from the rest of them, in the soft shadows of a tree, bowl in hand. And that alone is not so strange - the dark-clad beorc with the mask, the wyvern-riding girl who looks at Mordecai with fear in her eyes, Soren the rude tactician who always walks in Ike's shadow - they all tend to sit alone at mealtimes. But the look in Muarim's eye, as he watches the crowd around the fire, is not the same as theirs. The others who eat alone tend to look quiet, contemplative, maybe haughty. But that is not what is in Muarim's eyes.

It is a look of sorrow. A look of loneliness. And Mordecai hates to see that look on anyone, but in the eyes of a brother tiger, it is even worse.

So Mordecai makes up his mind, and gets to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Lethe asks him through a mouthful of stew. Mordecai merely shrugs, makes a gesture with one hand as if to say _ don't mind me_, and Lethe eyes him for a moment before turning back to talk to Mist. Dinner balanced carefully in one hand, Mordecai picks his way through the crowd, murmuring apologies to those he brushes past as he approaches the tree.

"Greetings," Mordecai says as he reaches Muarim's side at last. "May Mordecai eat here?"

Muarim looks up at him, eyes widening. "I - " He clears his throat. "Are you certain you want to?"

"Yes," says Mordecai. "Is that all right?"

Muarim looks away, and then back at Mordecai again. There's something else in his eyes, Mordecai notices. Fear? "I...suppose. If you want to."

"Thank you." Mordecai seats himself beside Muarim, making sure to keep some distance between them. Muarim reminds him of frightened prey sometimes, which is a strange feeling to get from a tiger laguz. "The dinner is good."

"Ah…" Muarim looks into his bowl. "Yes. It is."

"Friend Oscar is very talented. He showed Mordecai how he cooks once, but Mordecai could not follow. It was very complicated."

"Oscar...he is the one who made this meal?"

"Yes."

"I should...give him my thanks." Muarim sips from his bowl, but his eyes continue to dart around, as if searching for escape.

It grows quiet again, the air warm with the sounds of distant talking and laughter. Mordecai shifts as he eats more of his stew, trying to think of something else to say.

Mordecai considers himself friendly. He had many friends in Gallia, and he is making friends in Ike's army. He is not as frightened of the beorc as he used to be. But Muarim is different, and strange. A laguz, a brother tiger, just like Mordecai...but one who has never known Gallia and her lush forests, who was trapped in beorc slavery. Someone who has suffered in ways Mordecai cannot imagine.

Mordecai doesn't know how to talk to Muarim, and he is ashamed of that.

"I apologize," Muarim murmurs, startling Mordecai. "I am...a poor conversation partner."

"No, no." Mordecai shakes his head. "It matters not."

Muarim looks towards the campfire again. Mordecai follows the path of his eyes, and sees they are resting on the small, red-haired boy, who is currently bickering with the green-haired thief boy. Both children are laughing.

As Muarim watches the boy laugh, the faintest smile crosses his lips, and the sight lifts Mordecai's heart. He wasn't certain Muarim could smile.

"That boy...Tormod," says Mordecai. "He is...dear to you?"

"Ah…" Muarim startles slightly. "He...yes. He is my family."

"You share a special bond," says Mordecai with a nod. "Mordecai can tell."

"I joined this army for him," says Muarim quietly. "Though I fear I...do not fit in here. Not with the beorc, or the laguz."

"Many in this army do not fit in," says Mordecai. "For many months, Mordecai and Lethe were the only laguz. Mordecai was very scared, then."

Muarim's eyebrows lift as he looks over at Mordecai. "You...were scared?"

"Is that hard to believe?"

"Well...yes." Muarim sets down his empty bowl. "You always look so...content. You make friends with everyone here, beorc or laguz…"

"Mordecai has made many friends, yes," says Mordecai. "But that was not always so. It took much time for Mordecai to feel comfortable here. Do not worry, Muarim. You will make many friends too, with time."

"I appreciate that," says Muarim, but he doesn't look like he believes it.

Mordecai thinks back through their conversation. "You and Tormod have been together a long time, yes?"

"Oh...yes. Since he was very young." Muarim's face softens when he talks about the boy, the hard edges becoming gentler. "I found him when he was only days old…"

"So you are his father?"

"I…" Muarim hesitates. "I...have thought as such, but...when he was young, I taught him to call me by name, and nothing else. Because I always thought...that one day, he would leave me. He would return to the beorc, where he belongs…I thought if we were not father and son, it would be easier."

"But he stayed."

"He did. I never understood why."

"Perhaps it is because you are his family, too."

Muarim lowers his head. "Perhaps. He is a caring boy."

"You raised him well."

Muarim doesn't answer.

Mordecai shifts on the grass. His stew has long been eaten, and he's not sure how much longer he can extend this conversation. 

Just as Mordecai opens his mouth to excuse himself, Muarim speaks again. "Beorc grow so quickly. I feel as though it was mere minutes ago that I found him, an infant in an alley."

Mordecai nods. "It is very fast. Little Mist is only fifteen years. That seems impossible to me."

"Yes...Tormod is about her age." That faint smile crosses Muarim's lips again. "When he was a baby, I could fit him in one hand, even untransformed."

Mordecai smiles too at the gentle tone in Muarim's voice. "That seems impossibly small. Mordecai would have liked to have seen that."

"Well…" Muarim hesitates. "I have not shown this to anyone but Tormod, but…" He reaches into a pocket of his tunic. "Here."

He pulls out a few, slightly crumpled scraps of paper. Mordecai squints through the evening darkness, and then sees that they are drawings, crude sketches in graphite. The one on top shows what is unmistakably a beorc cub, asleep on a blanket. The second is a small child, his grin revealing missing top teeth. The third is clearly Tormod, just a little younger, holding up a handful of fire and looking very proud of himself.

"These are my favorite pictures of him," says Muarim. "I keep them with me always. But I have more, back in my things…"

"Did you draw these?"

"Yes…" Muarim sounds slightly sheepish. "I know they are not very good…"

"No, they are lovely," says Mordecai. "So few lines, but you capture the subject very well."

"Oh…thank you. That is gracious of you to say."

"How did you learn to make such nice drawings?" Mordecai asks. "Were you taught?"

Muarim shakes his head. "Nobody taught me to draw...I learned by myself, after I found him. I wanted to be able to draw him. I know he will not be with me for very long. But if I have these, then I can remember him always."

"That is very nice," says Mordecai as Muarim tucks the precious drawings away again. "The drawings...and the feelings behind them. I can feel your love in the paper."

"That means a great deal." Muarim's face looks slightly less heavy now, his eyes are steady instead of frantically searching for escape, and Mordecai is pleased by the sight.

"Mordecai has thought similar things, since joining Ike's army," says Mordecai. "That all of these beorc friends will die long before me...it saddens me."

Muarim nods slowly.

"But Mordecai much likes your idea," Mordecai continues. "In fact, I would like to ask...would you be willing to teach Mordecai how you draw?"

Muarim's eyebrows lift. "Teach you?"

"Yes, if it is not too much trouble," says Mordecai. "Mordecai...does not want to forget his friends, no matter how short their lives. Muarim's way...seems like it would be good. But Mordecai knows nothing of art. I do not know where to begin."

"Hmm…" Muarim nods slowly. "I do not know how to teach, myself. Still, I am willing to help, when I have time. Very well."

"Thank you, brother tiger." Mordecai bows his head. "Mordecai would be happy to help you in return."

"There is no need," says Muarim. "It is...I would like to spend more time with you. You seem very...considerate."

"It is nice of you to say so." Mordecai gets to his feet. "Let us speak again soon, Muarim."

"Yes…" Muarim lifts his hand in a shadow of a wave as Mordecai turns back to the fire. "Let us."

\---

"You are improving."

"Hmm." Mordecai squints at the paper. Daein snow crunches beneath him as he shifts his weight. "Mordecai hates to disagree, but…"

"It looks...er, somewhat like Sir Ike."

Mordecai shakes his head. "You are kind, Muarim, but Mordecai knows it is not a good drawing."

"But it is a good effort," says Muarim. "And it looks more like him than your first attempt."

"Perhaps. Mordecai appreciates the compliment, and the lesson, either way."

"This rather reminds me of the days when I used to teach the little one," says Muarim quietly. "Ah - I do not mean to imply you are childlike, Mordecai - "

"No, no. Mordecai understands."

"It has been some time since those days," says Muarim. "Now, the little one outpaces me in most ways...he rarely asks for my help with anything, anymore."

"Perhaps he does not want to burden you."

"I agree." Muarim shakes his head. "He does not understand that he could never be a burden to me."

Mordecai rests a hand on Muarim's shoulder. The other tiger tenses somewhat at the contact, but then relaxes. "Mordecai hopes he is not a burden, either."

"No, this has been…" Muarim pauses, searching for words. "I have enjoyed our lessons. It is nice to spend time with someone as good of heart as you."

"Mordecai has enjoyed them, too," says Mordecai. "You have made the effort to teach Mordecai. Mordecai appreciates the assistance, and the chance to spend time with a brother tiger."

"I have been meaning to ask," says Muarim. "You call me...brother tiger. What do you mean by that? Is that phrase...a custom of Gallia?"

"It is, and it is not," says Mordecai, setting down his pencil. "In the language of Gallia, there is a word used between tigers, to address each other."

"I see."

"The true word is…" Mordecai growls low in his throat. "But there is no direct way to say that in beorc words. 'Brother tiger' is the closest Mordecai could think of."

"Ah…" Muarim looks out across the Daein snow. "So that is the way of Gallia."

"Yes. If...if ever you wish to visit, Mordecai would be happy to show you the forests."

"Maybe," Muarim murmurs. "It all sounds...so terribly different from the world I have known. The desert was...a harsh place to live. And the world I left before it...that was worse still."

"Yes," says Mordecai again, carefully. He does not want to prod at sore spots. "Mordecai will tell Muarim more, if he wants to hear. And Mordecai will teach Muarim the words of Gallia, if he wants to learn them. But if he does not, then Mordecai will be quiet."

"I would like to know more," says Muarim, drawing absently in the snow with one finger. "But...perhaps not yet. It is difficult to hear."

"That is fine," says Mordecai. "When Muarim wants to listen, Mordecai will happily speak. And, just the same...if Muarim wants to speak, then Mordecai will listen in turn."

The snow falls slowly through the quiet between them, but it is a companionable one.

\---

Muarim has become more a part of the army in recent months, and is often with the others, a sight that brings Mordecai relief. But he sits alone now, huddled in the shade, staring at nothing. It is a sight that reminds Mordecai of when they first spoke.

Still, just as back then, Mordecai gets to his feet and walks to sit beside him. This time, he does not ask for invitation. He knows none is needed.

Muarim acknowledges him with only the slightest nod as Mordecai seats himself. For a moment, the only sound is the wind rustling across Crimean plains.

"Brother tiger," says Mordecai, voice low and gentle, "are you troubled?"

"It is nothing," says Muarim, almost automatically. "Please do not be concerned."

"Mordecai wishes to be of help. If it is possible. And even if not...Mordecai hopes his presence can bring some comfort."

"It does," says Muarim softly. "But...I fear you will think less of me."

"No. Mordecai never could."

For several long moments, Muarim is quiet again. Mordecai waits, a skill he is adept at, patient as the forest. A squirrel makes its home on his head.

When Muarim speaks again, his voice is heavy. "Back in Daein, I fought the raven king. Before the heron prince spoke to him. He said...things to me. Words that haunt me. I am not hurt, but...the words are causing me pain. I am sorry for worrying you."

"No. Mordecai is sorry that Muarim has been hurt in such a way," says Mordecai. "Words are wonderful tools, but they can be weapons, too. And it is your choice, but...perhaps those words will haunt you less, if you speak them to me now."

"Perhaps. I do not wish to burden you."

"If I help carry your burden, then each of us will only have half."

"That is...wise of you. But are you certain...?"

"Very certain," says Mordecai firmly. "If Muarim is comfortable with it."

"He said that the laguz slaves were...a pack of fools." Muarim closes his eyes. "I did not answer his barbed words, and so for that, he called me...pathetic."

"What cruel words," says Mordecai softly. "It brings Mordecai...great sadness to hear them. Sadness, and anger, too. The crow-king is an unkind one. Why would he say such things?"

"He thinks us cowards," says Muarim lowly. "He taunted us for...not escaping."

"But did Muarim not escape?"

"I did. He did not know that. It does not matter." Muarim's fists clench. "I do not care if he thinks little of me. But to mock those laguz who suffer, who live through such cruelty and hardship...merely enduring that life is a sign of great strength. He does not understand."

"Mordecai agrees with you. It brings him...great sadness, to think of how many laguz suffer still. Mordecai wishes he could be of more help."

"Over the years, I have heard many false sympathies, hollow words, from beorc and laguz alike." says Muarim, opening his eyes. "But your empathy...is genuine. I can...sense it, somehow. You truly are a gentle soul."

"Lethe says that, sometimes." Mordecai pauses, carefully selecting his next words. "But there is something important that Mordecai must tell Muarim. Muarim must know that...that the crow king is wrong. There is nothing pathetic about Muarim."

Muarim doesn't answer.

"In some ways...Muarim is not unlike the forest squirrels."

"Slow to trust, quick to run?" Muarim sounds slightly bitter.

"Yes, but no." Mordecai carefully reaches up, lifting the squirrel off his head and holding it in a cupped palm. "It is the nature of the squirrel to be careful. That is the way the squirrel stays alive. There is no shame in doing what is necessary to live."

Muarim watches the squirrel, the hard lines of his face softening somewhat.

"But Muarim is much more than a squirrel, also," Mordecai continues. "Muarim is a brave warrior. More importantly, Muarim is kind. He is kind to laguz and to beorc, and even to forest creatures. Muarim is a good friend, and a good father. He draws well and he speaks well, and he even thinks well. Mordecai has great respect for Muarim. Mordecai considers him to be one of the greatest people Mordecai knows."

Muarim still doesn't answer for a long moment, and Mordecai waits with patience, returning the squirrel to its nest in his hair. Finally, Muarim lets out a long sigh. "You are too kind to me, Mordecai."

"No. Muarim deserves this kindness."

"Why do you show such kindness?" Muarim asks. "Because I am...a brother tiger?"

"No, it is not just that," says Mordecai. "Of course Mordecai was happy to meet another tiger, so far from home. But Mordecai wanted to reach out. Mordecai wanted to help. And now...now Muarim is Mordecai's friend. So of course Mordecai wishes to show Muarim all the kindness he can. That is what one does for friends."

"Friends...hm." Muarim smiles, and it's faint, but it's a very nice smile. "I suppose we are."

"Do Mordecai's words bring comfort?"

"They do." Muarim takes Mordecai's hand, hesitant but warm. "They always do. Thank you, Mordecai."

The animals settle around them, a peaceful corner of the forest. No more words are spoken, but no more words need to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
